Sapphires and Morning Glory
by Phoenix II
Summary: A new dailyupdate fic from Phoenix II. A monthlong series of oneshots about Stan and Kyle, prompted by the Word of the Day of MerriamWebster.
1. Stipulate

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Stipulate**

**Disclaimer: South Park Is Not Mine.**

**Summary: This one is the first one. It's a little late, but…Stan and Kyle's relationship has stipulations.**

**-.-**

_stipulate__• __verb_

_1 :__ to make an agreement to do something __contract _

_2 :__ to specify (something) as a condition or requirement (as of an agreement or offer)_

**-.-**

Upon their nineteenth birthdays, Stan and Kyle had decided to try taking their relationship to a whole 'nother level. But when they had done so, they had written out and signed an agreement on what they would and would not do.

One of the stipulations was that they would not have sex until after 120 days had passed.

Stan was not that patient. While Kyle could, and frequently did, go at least fourteen days without masturbating, Stan needed to take care of business at least every other day, and didn't mind doing it every day.

Thusly, Stan wanted sex with Kyle before any 120 day period elapsed.

He told Kyle this somewhere around Day 35.

"No," Kyle responded.

"No?"

"No. You agreed no sex until after 120 days." And then he returned to making comments in the margin of a book he was reading.

"But…but…Iwantsex!" Stan declared, setting his face into a pout.

"No sex."

"Kyyyyyyyyyyyyle!!"

"No. Sex. Not until September 24." September 24, of course, being day 121 of their relationship.

"But that's three months away!"

"Yes it is. Learn some patience, Stanley dear."

"My hand's nowhere NEAR as tight as your sweet ass!"

"Stan, there will be no sex until September 24. I have your signature on that. You agreed to that stipulation. You cannot sweet-talk me into sex with you."

"Meanie," Stan said, before stalking off, probably to look up if it was possible to tighten his hands on Wikipedia.

Kyle just smirked and returned to his book.

Life went on.

**-.-**

**Notes: Yeah. It's short. I don't really care. It's done, and I'm sunburnt as hell from sitting in a shithole stadium for five and a half hours this afternoon. My team won, but that's not the point.**

**Some of them might be longer than this, and I hope so, but I doubt it. Oh well.**

**Phoenix II**


	2. Pillory

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Pillory **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: I might've found a small plot to run with. Maybe combined with the first plot I thought of for this. Maybe not. **

**-.- **

_Pillory__ • noun _

_1 :__ a device formerly used for publicly punishing offenders consisting of a wooden frame with holes in which the head and hands can be locked _

_2 :__ a means for exposing one to public scorn or ridicule _

**-.- **

"Kyyyyyyyyyyle!!!" Stan complained, flopping onto his bed in the dorm room on Day 90.

"What is it, Stan?" Kyle asked, lazily turning a page in his Jew Monthly magazine.

"Can't we please have sex?"

"No, damn you! Stop asking!"

"But I can't tighten my hand anymore! It's giving me cramps when I try to take notes!!"

"That's your own damn fault for being so horny."

"I can't help it that I'm hormonally active!"

"I've managed."

"You channel it into smartness. I can't do that."

"Obviously," Kyle said, indicating a stack of papers on Stan's desk marked with grades in the 70s.

"Can't we have sex now?"

"One month."

"But that's thirty days awaaaaaaaay!!" Stan complained. Kyle slammed his magazine shut, walked over to his closet and removed from it a senior wood-working class project.

"Can I at least jack you off?" Stan asked, fear in his voice as he recognized the object Kyle was holding, even as Kyle set the device at the foot of Stan's bed and smashed Stan face-down into his mattress.

"Mmph!" Stan protested, as Kyle roughly yanked his head and hands forward, clamping them securely in the pillory before placing a padlock in the hole he'd drilled for it, and tying Stan's legs to the bedpost.

"Stop bothering me, asshole," he groused, returning to his bed and magazine. Stan wriggled in an attempt to escape the pillory, to no avail.

"Jesus…all you had to say was you're into BDSM and I'd have left you alone before you could blink!" he exclaimed.

"Aww, does Stanny not appreciate his Kyle's kinks?" Kyle cooed, in a voice that made Stan shudder with fear…and pleasure. He choked on his reply for a moment before speaking again.

"M-m-maybe I can learn…" he said. Kyle reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Good boy."

**-.- **

**Notes: Erm… Yeah. Blame Seth MacFarlane for that. **

**Phoenix II **


	3. Insinuate

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Insinuate **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: I was going to wait until September 24…but then this word came along and it was too perfect. So…I dunno. This story is now comprised of small arcs. Completely random too. Whee!! **

**-.- **

_insinuate__ • verb _

_1 a :__ to introduce (as an idea) gradually or in a subtle, indirect, or covert way _

_b :__ to impart or suggest in an artful or indirect way imply _

_2 :__ to introduce (as oneself) by stealthy, smooth, or artful means _

**-.- **

Kyle had fully intended to wait until Day 121 to jump Stan's bones. Or allow Stan to jump _his_ bones. Whichever. But then, with his repeated attempts to "seduce" Kyle, and the adorable way he looked when Kyle tied him up to stop him, Kyle had decided that it was in both of their best interests to … accelerate the schedule.

On Day 105, he had secretly met with Kenny, enticing him to participate in an elaborate plot to get Stan into Kyle's bed. Or Kyle into Stan's bed. Whichever. The plot was kicked off when Kenny corralled Stan after class to get smoothies, which the poor boy would pay for with the $20 Kyle was paying him to do this.

At the juice bar, Kenny was to drop subtle hints about Kyle possibly being interested in sex with his boyfriend. Kenny, being Kenny, decided to take these instructions in a completely different direction. He dropped all attempts at subtlety, for starters.

"So, you and Kyle fucking yet?" he asked, quite non-chalantly as he leaned back in his chair and taking a sip of his smoothie.

Stan paled noticeably, eyes shifting rapidly as he hissed for Kenny to "Keep quiet, for fuck's sake!"

"Is that a yes?" the blonde asked with a grin.

"It's a no, actually…" Stan replied. "I've been trying since a little after the first month. He keeps turning me down."

"Oh, dude, you're missing out!" Kenny said. "You will LOVE being inside that tight ass…" Stan's eyes bugged out as Kenny said this, hurriedly gulping down the rest of his smoothie and muttering something about needing to be somewhere.

Kenny left soon after, taking a celebratory sip of his smoothie and feeling quite pleased with himself.

Stan burst into his and Kyle's dorm room wild-eyed.

"Something the matter?" Kyle asked, a little worried about what Kenny had said.

"You've been sleeping around on me!?! Without even sleeping with me!?!" Stan shouted irrationally.

"What are you insinuating?" Kyle asked. This wasn't in the game plan…

"I was just talking with Kenny…and he said I would love being inside your tight ass…you've been cheating on me with _KENNY_!?!"

Kyle cursed the financially-challenged boy. "I have not! He doesn't know what he's talking about! Well, he might…but not from me!"

"Oh…" Stan said, placated.

"Aren't you going to apologize for bursting in and interrupting me?" Kyle asked, pulling back the sheet to reveal what he HAD been doing before Stan had burst in.

"Erm…sorry?"

"No, Stanley…shut the door and get over here…I want you to _apologize_." A look of realization came across Stan's face.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, hurriedly stepping inside and shutting the door. "You mean…"

"Yes, I do."

Stan's apology took the rest of the night.

**-.- **

**Notes: Hehehehe. Hehehe. OK… arc one over. Maybe. Depends on what the next word does. **

**Phoenix II **


	4. Ruly

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Ruly **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: Remember Kyle's into BDSM? **

**-.- **

_ruly__ • adjective _

_obedient, orderly _

**-.- **

"K-K-Kyle?" Stan stuttered, from his position on his bed, handcuffed to the bedpost, naked except for a tight pair of black pants made out of leather or PVC or something that made him chafe.

From his spot in a dark corner, Kyle lashed out with a whipstrike that just flicked Stan's right nipple and made the other boy cry out in pain.

"Master, Stan. Call me Master."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Fine, _Master_. Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," Kyle answered.

"Says who, Master?" Stan asked, wincing in anticipation of another whipping.

"You did, actually?"

"And just when did I do this?"

"When you signed the agreement."

"I gave you permission to tie me up, dress me in these hideously uncomfortable pants, and make me call you Master?"

Kyle produced the document and turned a few pages, clearing his throat before reading. "_I, Stan Marsh, give Kyle Broflovski permission to tie me up with shackles, because I'm his slave, and I'll let him whip me if I misbehave. He is my Master in the bedroom._"

"Those are lyrics to that horrid Justin Timberlake song!" Stan protested. "I signed that!?!"

"Initialed the section, signed the whole thing. You should learn to read Stan, it would do you a lot of good."

Stan sighed in defeat and stopped protesting against his bonds. The pants were really uncomfortable, but since Kyle was Stan's Master in the bedroom, that at least meant they would be removed soon…he hoped.

"Master?" he asked, looking at Kyle and putting on a pleading expression.

"Slave?" Kyle replied, looking like walking sex in his own black leather pants and shirtless torso, holding the long, thin whip.

"These pants are _terribly_ uncomfortable, Master," Stan said. "Is there any chance you will be removing them soon?"

"There is a wonderful chance," Kyle replied. "I'd just like to burn this image of you into my mind first…laying there, all ruly and completely under my control…"

Stan slumped back into the bed. It wouldn't be the worst thing, having a kinky BDSM dominatrix for a boyfriend.

"Ruly?" he asked.

"The opposite of unruly. Didn't you know it was a word?" Stan shook his head no.

"Hmm…an extra few minutes then, for ignorance." Stan sighed in exasperation as Kyle chuckled and leaned back into the shadows.

**-.- **

**Notes: Hehehe. Just so you know, my Microsoft Word doesn't believe ruly is a word either. Take that, M-W! **

**Phoenix**** II **


	5. Benign

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Benign **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: Hmmm… **

**-.- **

_benign__ • adjective _

_1 :__ of a gentle disposition gracious _

_2 a :__ showing kindness and gentleness _

_b :__ favorable, wholesome _

_3 a :__ of a mild type or character that does not threaten health or life; __especially__ not becoming cancerous _

_b :__ having no significant effect harmless _

**-.- **

Stan looked at the boy whose tired body was snuggled into his own, their naked lower bodies covered by blankets, their torsos exposed to the climate-controlled air of their room.

Kyle looked so calm and at peace in his sleep, traces of a grin the only way to tell he was dreaming, and doing so happily. He treated Stan's chest like the softest pillow, and Stan allowed him, loving and relishing the feel of Kyle's body against his own. As he looked down at his boyfriend's face, Stan saw the trace of a whip mark on his chest that belied the kinky and dominating nature of his sleeping lover.

Stan wondered how such an adorable boy could have such a dark side, such a perverted side. He wondered if it came from hanging out with Kenny, briefly, before reminding himself that he too had hung out with Kenny, and he certainly had no such kinks. He wondered if it came from watching all sorts of pornography in high school, briefly, before reminding himself that he too had watched all sorts of pornography in high school, and he certainly had no such kinks. He then pondered if it had come from his mother, which was certainly a possibility. However, he then discarded this theory as well, on the basis that no matter how loudly she yelled, or what she did when she was in a rage, Sheila Broflovski was good at heart.

The only person he could remember from South Park who liked BDSM was Mrs. Cartman, and he knew that Kyle hadn't lost his virginity to _her_, no matter how much it would have infuriated Cartman. He knew this because Kyle had lost his virginity to Rebecca Cotswalds after Junior Prom, at the same time and next door to the hotel room where Stan had lost his virginity to Wendy.

Stan then pondered, as Kyle made a small noise and tried to snuggle closer to him, on the nature of his relationship with Kyle. Was it a light and dark relationship, with Stan the benign, caring, gentle one and Kyle the malignant, uncaring, brutal one? Or was Kyle just…different. Experimenting with him. Did Kyle really like dressing up in those horrid pants and whipping him, relishing in his cries of pain? Or was he merely playing? Did Kyle really enjoy his whimpers as he thrust deeply and roughly into him? Or was he merely playing? Did Kyle really love him? Or was it all just a game?

Troubled and chilled, Stan relaxed into his pillow and tightened his embrace around his still boyfriend, hoping to leech some of Kyle's exuberant warmth into his cold, cold body as he slept.

**-.- **

**Notes: Hmm…reflective!Stan. Don't see that often, do ya? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	6. Grandiloquence

**Sapphires and Morning Glory**

**Grandiloquence **

**Disclaimer: Notminestill **

**Summary: A visit is paid to someone. **

**-.- **

_Grandiloquence__ • noun _

_A lofty, extravagantly colorful, pompous, or bombastic style, manner, or quality especially in language _

**-.- **

"Hey Kyle," Kenny said, walking into the former's room with only a single knock to announce his presence. He found Kyle nose deep in a Spanish/English dictionary.

"Menos grandilocuencia, por favor, Ken," Kyle said, not looking up. " Sale la sala, cierra la puerta, y repita su acciónes." Kenny stood there for a moment, translating what Kyle had said. He hadn't grown up on a street called Avenida de los Méxicanos and come away from it with nothing. When he understood what Kyle had said, instructing him to leave the room, shut the door, and repeat his actions, his response was automatic.

"No."

"No?" Kyle asked, setting down the book. "You're telling me no?"

"I'm not here for pleasantries and manners and shit, I'm here to find out if you didn't waste twenty bucks on me," Kenny said.

"You want to know if I've scored yet," Kyle said, not a question, a statement. Kenny nodded.

"Yes. Go away," Kyle said bluntly.

"No," Kenny said again. "I wanna know what happened. Who topped? How was it? Have you done it since?"

"You're a nosy son of a bitch, aren't you?"

"I helped set it up, I'm entitled to this information!" Kenny replied, agitatedly.

"Less grandiloquence, please," Kyle said gently.

"Stop using big words and dodging my question!" Kenny said, tugging at his dirty (both colored and actually dirty) blonde hair.

"He topped that night, I've topped since, it was nice, a little too sweet, and we do it almost every night. He's so fun to whip…"

"WHIP!?!"

"Yeah whip," Kyle said. Kenny was silent for a moment.

"_You_ do BDSM? _YOU_!? Mr. Innocent little Kyle Broflovski?"

"Want a demonstration?" Kyle asked lecherously.

"Gah, NO!" Kenny protested, backing away, and into the door as it opened for Stan, coming back from a shower and allowing Kenny a good look at his body, and noticed that his torso was covered in small welts.

"Jesus!" Kenny exclaimed, moving closer to the door. "Kyle, you're sick. Stan, you're sicker for letting him do that to you. I'm gonna go…" he said, heading for the door before stopping to listen to Stan's soft voice.

"I don't let him, not by choice…he's my Master."

"What do you mean, he's your Master?"

" Stanley signed a contract that lets me tie him up and whip him, and lets me call myself his Master," Kyle smirked.

"Didn't you read!?!" Kenny screamed at Stan.

"No…"

"Fuck, Stan! God, man, this is terrible! Look at yourself! Doesn't it hurt?"

"Terribly…" Stan murmured. "But I don't have the choice, Ken…if Kyle wants to whip me during sex, he can…"

"Shut up, Stan," Kyle ordered. Kenny rounded on him.

"He doesn't have to, he's not in the bedroom area!" the blonde piped up.

"But you are," Kyle pointed out, reaching for something under his bed. "How long's it been since you died last, Ken?"

"Three months last Wednesday," Kenny said without fear as Kyle produced a nightstick.

"If you don't leave within fifteen seconds, you will have a choice between me killing you by beating you to death with this, or me killing you by shoving this up your ass," he said in a tone of voice that made him sound like Hannibal Lector. Kenny took the hint and skedaddled.

"You shouldn't threaten Kenny like that," Stan said, setting his shower stuff down in his closet and avoiding Kyle's gaze.

"Are you questioning me?" Kyle asked, replacing the nightstick and reaching for the whip.

"…No…" Stan said, resignedly.

"Good boy. Come here, I've missed you." Stan reluctantly shuffled over to the bed and was pulled into a rough kiss by Kyle. Fifteen minutes later, his ass began its nightly protest against Kyle's invasion. Twenty minutes later, the pain only manifested itself when Stan shifted as Kyle fell asleep atop him.

Stan cried himself to sleep that night. Kenny did as well. Kyle wore his usual smile in his dreams.

**-.- **

**Notes: Erm… wow…I wasn't expecting THAT. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	7. Miasma

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Miasma **

**Disclaimer: Notmine… **

**Summary: Kyle's bastardhood has major consequences.**

**-.- **

_Miasma__ • noun _

_1:__ a vaporous exhalation formerly believed to cause disease; __also__: a heavy vaporous emanation or atmosphere _

_2:__ an influence or atmosphere that tends to deplete or corrupt; __also__: an atmosphere that obscures: fog _

**-.- **

Kyle woke up alone in the bed he typically shared with Stan. This alone was enough to royally piss him off. Already naturally angry at waking up, his anger was exacerbated first by the fact that he had awoken before noon on a Saturday, then by the fact that Stan wasn't beneath him still, and third by the note he found.

It was more properly a letter, typed out and signed with a flourish.

_Dear Kyle,_ it began.

_I'm writing you this because I'm tired. I love Kyle very much, but I love the Kyle I grew up in South Park with, my super best friend, thousands of times more than I love the Kyle that fucks me every night without preparing me at all and whips me so that it hurts to wear a shirt. _

_ It hurts just as much to have to tell you this in writing, because I'm afraid you'll whip me if I tried to tell you this in person. You've changed, Kyle. You've changed and I don't like it. Or maybe, even worse, you haven't changed, and you've always been like this, a kinky little dominatrix that doesn't have any consideration for the feelings of others, not even their lover's. _

_ I cried myself to sleep last night. I cry almost every night since the first night you took me. At first I thought you were just having a bit of fun, that these things really turn you on. But now, when the whippings get harder, and you pin me to the bed, and you almost strangle me while you fuck me … you're not trying to love me. You're just getting your rocks off, and I'm suffering for it. You don't love me. You're taking advantage of the love I have for you. All I am to you is a really good fuck. _

_ Well you know what, Kyle? I'm not going to be your really good fuck anymore. Until you can love me properly, I'm going to stay with Kenny. You'll notice that all my clothes and books are gone, of course, that's why I left you this, in the hope that you don't shout loud enough to get yourself written up for a noise violation. _

_ Love, even though you don't feel the same, _

_ Stan _

His hopes were in vain, though. Kyle's angry roar shook through the entire dorm, breaking not only his room's window and light bulb, but awakening the Hall Director from his apartment four stories down.

After accepting the citation and charges to replace the window and light bulb, Kyle whipped out his cell and dialed Stan's. He listened to it ring, and ring, and ring, and ring…

"_Hi, you've reached Stan's cell phone. I can't take your call right now, and if your name's Kyle, I'm not going to. Unless you're Kyle, feel free to leave a message after the beep. Thanks._"

Kyle left one anyway. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing, huh, Stan? You think you can cut me off? Huh? Huh? You're GOING to get your ass back here, and I'll be generous and give you until noon to do so. That's two hours from now. There's going to be serious punishment for this, Stan!" Kyle promised, snapping the cell shut and kicking the foot of the bed, relishing the pain it brought him.

Across campus, Stan sat on Kenny's spare bed and played Kyle's voicemail message. Kenny had made him promise not to answer Kyle's call, and it had hurt so much, because all Stan wanted to do was pick it up and apologize to Kyle, even though he had nothing to apologize for.

At the end of the message, Stan broke down in tears and handed the phone to Kenny, who selected the "Replay Message" function and listened to it for himself.

"You did the right thing, Stan," the blonde said, shutting the phone and going over to sit by Stan. "It's gonna be alright, if he was gonna be that big of a dick to you, he doesn't deserve you in the first place." Stan nodded, but continued to cry, and Kenny pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing his abused friend to let it all out.

Kenny's cell phone, dorm landline, and Stan's phone received plenty of calls that day. Both continuously checked the caller ID features and any time Kyle called, they either let it go to voicemail, to reveal increasingly angrier Kyle's offering increasingly shorter time limits for Stan to return and accept his punishment, or picked up and hung up immediately, which did nothing to abate Kyle's anger.

By 8:00 PM, the redhead threw his phone into his laundry hamper out of frustration, watching it disappear amongst a week's worth of dirty socks without any satisfaction at all. It was apparent that threatening wasn't going to work on Stan, he really seemed firm in his decision.

Kyle would have to attempt another stratagem. That was alright with him…but it wouldn't be alright for Stan.

**-.- **

**Notes: If you're wondering how this relates, there is a miasma about the relationship. The intense and unloving influence and atmosphere have depleted Stan's patience and tolerance for Kyle's kinkiness. **

**Also, based on a couple of suggestions, I have changed this story's title. The new title is based on the September birthstone and flower. Because I didn't want to simply re-title it "September," that'd just be lame. **

** Phoenix II**


	8. Jape

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Jape **

**Disclaimer: Notmine. **

**Summary: Kyle wants Stan back. **

**-.- **

****

_Jape__ • verb _

_1:__ to say or do something jokingly or mockingly _

_2:__ to make mocking fun of _

**-.- **

Three days later, Kyle Broflovski was still not a man to talk to. At least, if you valued remaining intact. The janitors in the Student Union had become accustomed to sweeping up at least five teeth every day as a result of people trying to approach Kyle. Boys, girls, men, women, white, black, or Hispanic, it made no difference to Kyle. If you spoke to him, you lost teeth. Suddenly and violently. He'd also broken several noses during the same time period.

He was angry. And tense. And hadn't gotten off in three days. This was NOT a man to mess with. In a way, Kyle had been stalking Stan. The boys had passed through the Union several times each day, and Kyle assumed his errant lover would continue the routine. Three days later, Kyle had only caught a single glimpse of the boy that loved him.

In Kyle's mind, _he_ was the one who had been wronged, not Stan. Stan just needed to stop being a pussy and take what was given to him. In Kyle's mind, there was nothing wrong with what he had done, what he had been doing. Stan was just a pussy, in Kyle's mind.

But, being a fair boy, Kyle decided that once he got a hold of Stan again, he would give the other a chance to explain himself. Luckily, he mused, he would have that chance soon enough. There was Stan, hesitantly approaching the steps. Kyle checked his watch. It was 12:15, lunchtime for Stan and, until three days ago, Kyle. Kyle rose and headed across the lounge area to stand near the main pathway as Stan entered, still looking rather timid and skittish.

As he passed by, looking the wrong way, Kyle reached out and grabbed him.

"Hi Stan, long time no see," he said, a hint of malice in his tone. "Let's … talk."

"No!" Stan protested, trying to worm his way out of Kyle's grip. "I don't have anything to say to you."

"You could start with why you're such a fucking little pussy," Kyle offered.

"You HURT me!" Stan said, reaching inside his bag for something. "There's no rule that says I have to stay in an abusive relationship."

"You forget, Stan," Kyle drawled. "I own you."

"Fuck you, you don't!" Stan said, pulling his arm out of his bag and revealing what he was holding: a small can of Mace, which he sprayed in Kyle's face.

Kyle's eyes were burning, but a sense of rage built up inside him and he lashed out, punching Stan in the face and sending the other boy to the floor as Kyle stood over him mockingly, rubbing at his eyes as he felt the stares of the other students.

"Look, everyone! It's a little fucking fairy that can't even stand up for himself," he jeered, kicking Stan in the ribs as the other struggled to stand up, his gaze pleading with Kyle to stop, asking him why he was doing this.

"Fucking pansy," Kyle spat, backhanding Stan. "You never know what's best for you." And with a final blow, that sent Stan sprawling over the back of a couch, Kyle stalked off. He would eat in the cafeteria today.

**-.- **

**Notes: Kyle was making mocking fun of Stan, the second definition. **

**Phoenix**** II**


	9. Convivial

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Convivial **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: Can Stan recover from Kyle's abuses? **

**-.- **

_Convivial__ • adjective _

_ relating to, occupied with, or fond of feasting, drinking, and good company _

**-.- **

"Stan, you have to try and shake it off," Kenny said, four days after the incident in the Union. "C'mon, dude…at LEAST get out of bed."

"No, Kenny," Stan said. "I don't want to go outside again."

"Dude, you can't keep having me drive you to classes just because you don't want to run into Kyle. There's more to life than one ex-boyfriend."

"I just don't understand what happened," Stan said, from beneath a pillow. "What happened to Kyle? He used to be so nice, such a caring boy. That's what I fell in love with…not this abusive, cold, distant bastard."

"You know I can't answer that," Kenny said. "Come on. We're going out. I'm taking you to dinner. At least shave, for Christ's sake."

"Dinner? But…won't people think…?" Stan asked, removing the pillow from his face so that his words could be intelligible.

"Alright, a few friends are gonna be there too."

"But not –?"

"Not Kyle, no. As far as I'm concerned, he's no longer my friend."

"But…"

"Stan, he hurt you, I understand that, and you're trying to heal yourself, but you're in a shell. Tonight, we're breaking you out of that shell," Kenny said, going through Stan's clothes and tossing him a white polo shirt with blue stripes that were the same color of his eyes and a pair of khaki pants.

"Where are 'we' going?" Stan asked, appraising the selected outfit. "And more importantly, who are 'we'?"

Kenny sighed. "We are you, me, and a couple of my friends."

"Which friends?"

"Neil and Joel, the Dynamic Duo of the English Department."

"Aren't they…?"

"Yes, they're together. No, we're not going clubbing to find you a new boyfriend. It's JUST dinner. At Applebee's."

"You're not gonna get us thrown out again, are you?" Stan asked. Every time he told the story, everyone looked at him funnily and asked him how someone gets thrown out of an Applebee's.

"I promise you, I will not promise the waitress sex in order to get us alcohol. But _just this once_ and _just for you_."

"Gee, thanks, Ken," Stan deadpanned, swinging out of bed and reaching for the hem of his sweatpants as he pulled out a fresh pair of underwear from his mobile dresser. "Err…d'you mind?"

"Not at all," Kenny said, turning around as Stan undressed. "Just tell me when you're ready." This was something else he'd have to work on Stan with, not worrying about someone else seeing his body. Especially a straight guy. Kenny wasn't going to do anything, but there was always the chance that Stan was just really modest around people he wasn't intimate with.

At dinner, Kenny and his friends were careful to talk about anything BUT relationships, not that Stan noticed. Neil and Joel were really nice guys, and Stan was happy to find out that they were both avid followers of football, even if they DID support a team that maintained a rivalry with his own favorite. That merely meant that he had plenty to discuss with them. By the end of dinner, the name Kyle Broflovski was the last thing on Stan's mind.

"This has been really fun, guys," Stan said, standing up when it was time to go as Kenny headed off to pick up the check, leaving the other three to chip in the tip. "I can't wait for Week 5."

"So confident…" Neil said. "You'll be regretting that the next day, when you lose by three touchdowns."

"You just watch," Stan said. "Lynch'll stop LT cold." Joel snorted.

"Keep dreamin', Stan. The Chargers are going all the way this year. Denver'll go in the Wild Card, maybe."

"Well, we'll just see in a month, won't we?" Stan asked with a twinkle in his eye as Kenny signaled that they were good to go and the other three members of the party headed for the door.

"That we will, Stan," Neil confirmed. "See you around."

"Yeah, see ya," Stan echoed, getting into Kenny's car.

"Have fun?" Kenny asked.

"Lots!" Stan replied. "It was con…viv…ial?" he asked, trying to remember the word Joel had used to describe the football talk.

"Convivial, yeah," Kenny said. "Feeling better."

"I haven't felt this good in months," Stan confirmed.

"Since the Broncs signed Jarvis Moss?"

"Since the Broncs DRAFTED Jarvis Moss, actually."

"Jeeze," Kenny muttered.

"Yeah…I know," Stan said. "Wanna watch the game? See your Cowboys get thrashed?"

"Shut up, Stan," Kenny grumbled. Stan just smirked.

**-.- **

**Notes: Hehe. Yeah, I'm not watching football right now lol. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	10. Longueur

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Longueur **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: Kyle wants Stan back, and needs a plan. Enter the Bard. **

**-.- **

_Longueur__ • noun _

_ A dull and tedious passage or section (as of a book, play, or musical composition) -- usually used in plural _

**-.- **

A very frustrated Kyle Broflovski was flipping through a very large Anthology of the Collected Works of William Shakespeare, focused on trying to find something he could use to win Stan back.

Kyle had finally accepted, a week into the breakup, that Stan wasn't going to come back no matter how many threats he made, and an axiom his mother used to say frequently came to mind: "You win more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Of course, Kyle could not overtly corner Stan and recite to him whatever he ended up using to seduce Stan, he would have to do it _co_vertly, and make Stan follow his lead on this.

In order to accomplish that, Kyle had cornered one of the freshmen on their floor and offered him $20 a night to just copy things down by hand. The freshman, being a freshman and constantly needing money for pizza, had agreed. He would, by his reckoning, be pulling in an extra $120 a week. Kyle estimated between $60 and $80, intending to use the boy's handwriting every other night, lest he flood Stan with poetic devices of Wooing.

He had to go through every play the man had ever written. The longueurs of the plays were starting to frustrate him even more. Finally, FINALLY he arrived at the index of the sonnets, which he had decided would be the best method to win Stan's heart. His ire grew when he saw how many he would have to read through, and decided to just pick a random one and hope it didn't refer to women.

When he saw the sonnet he'd selected, and read through it, he actually cackled. It was _perfect_. _PERFECT_, damnit! It gave away _just_ enough of a clue as to the actual sender without really giving away anything at all.

"BILLY!" Kyle shouted, drawing the freshman's attention from down the hall. "C'MERE!"

The next morning, Stan went to his P.O. Box in the Union to check his mail, and was surprised to find a crème-white envelope, addressed to him, but with no return address listed. He opened it carefully, and pulled out a sheet of crème-white paper, gently folded upon which was written in an unfamiliar handwriting…some sort of poem.

_Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;  
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?  
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;  
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.  
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,  
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;  
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest  
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.  
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,  
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;  
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief  
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.  
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,  
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. _

Stan smiled. Maybe his life was going to take a turn for the better, and allow him to put Kyle and his abuses behind him once and for all. Maybe, now, Stan would enjoy a chance at true love…

**-.- **

**Notes: Ooh, don't ya just LOVE that Kyle? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	11. Aplomb

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Aplomb **

**Disclaimer: Notmine. **

**Summary: Stan is hooked by Kyle's latest plot, but doesn't know who's behind it. **

**-.- **

_Aplomb__ • noun _

_ Complete and confident composure or self-assurance: poise _

**-.- **

"He sent me another one!" Stan said excitedly, re-entering the dorm room he was sharing with Kenny. "It's so pretty, Ken! Listen!" he said excitedly, extracting the sheet of expensive-looking paper, carefully unfolding it and reading:

"_Let me confess that we two must be twain, _

_Although our undivided loves are one: _

_So shall those blots that do with me remain _

_Without thy help by me be borne alone. _

_In our two loves there is but one respect, _

_Though in our lives a separable spite, _

_Which though it alter not love's sole effect, _

_Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. _

_I may not evermore acknowledge thee, _

_Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, _

_Nor thou with public kindness honour me, _

_Unless thou take that honour from thy name: _

_But do not so; I love thee in such sort _

_As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report_."

"Well at least whoever it is has taste," Kenny remarked. "How do you know it's a guy?"

"The handwriting," Stan said, showing Kenny the paper. "Unless a transvestite is after me…now that's an intriguing thought," the recovering boy mused. "What'd you mean, he has taste?"

"That's Shakespeare, Stan," Kenny said. "Sonnet 36."

"So it's not original?" Stan asked.

"Is it really important? And besides…come on, who uses thee and twain anymore?"

"You're the one exploring majoring in English, you tell me!" Stan retorted, his pride wounded.

"Fine. No one. No, not even British people," Kenny said, adding the last portion to cut off Stan's forthcoming question.

"Fun-killer," Stan groused. "But, Ken…he never leaves me any hints on how to contact him back."

"How long's he been sending you these again?" Kenny asked.

"Err…last week, I think."

"And there's no return address or anything?" Kenny asked, taking the envelope to check as Stan confirmed that there was not.

"Well, there's no postmark either, so the person's both on campus _and_ personally handing these to the postmaster. They're immaculate, Stan."

"So…what're you saying?"

"Write him a note and tell them to give it to him when he shows up to make his next delivery."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Stan said automatically. Seeing Kenny's quizzical look, he explained. "They've been showing up every other day." Kenny gave him an "Ah" look of understanding before continuing.

"In your note, just write something down quick to let him know that you ARE interested, and want to find out more about him. Then wait and see if he gives you anything back."

"Ken, you're a freaking GENIUS!" Stan exclaimed, clapping the blonde on the back and rummaging through his things for a writing pad and an envelope.

Just before the closing of the window at the post office the next day, Kyle approached the clerk with a crème-colored envelope.

"For Box 7826," he said, handing it to her with his usual aplomb. He was quite surprised when she handed him a plain white envelope in response.

"The boxholder wanted me to make sure you got this, sir," she said, taking his envelope and heading off to place Kyle's latest missive in Stan's box as Kyle returned to his room with the Stan's envelope in his hands.

He opened it up and read from it. "_Hi, this is Stan_," the note began. "_I've been getting your notes and I'd really like to know more about you. You obviously know a lot about me, especially that I'm single. I'm assuming you are too, but beyond that, I'm in the dark. Would it be too much trouble to let me know a little bit more about you? You don't have to give me you name if you don't want to yet, just a little bit of information to satisfy my curiosity. Thanks._"

Kyle dropped the note and envelope to the bed and let out an evil cackle. Oh, this was _PERFECT_!

**-.- **

**Notes: Oy, Kyle…boy, you need to straighten yourself out… **

**Phoenix**** II**


	12. Virtuoso

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Virtuoso **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Stan wants to know more about who's pursuing his affections. What will Kyle reveal? **

**-.- **

_Virtuoso__ • noun _

_1:__ one skilled in or having a taste for the fine arts _

_2:__ one who excels in the technique of an art; __especially__: a highly skilled musical performer (as on the violin) _

_3:__ a person who has great skill at some endeavor _

**-.- **

"Something a little different, tonight, Billy," Kyle said, ushering the freshman into the room the day after receiving Stan's note.

"How so?" the boy – really, he didn't even have to shave – asked.

"This time you're going to be writing a little introduction," Kyle said. "Our correspondent wants to know details. You're going to write what I tell you, OK?"

"Hold on, Kyle," Billy said. "You want me to write a faggy love letter, you're gonna have to pay extra."

"I am not," Kyle said flatly. "Because if you don't, the Deltas are going to find out that their prospective brother has an unhealthy liking of the cock."

Billy gaped. "How did you know?"

"It's written all over your face, not to mention your apparent ire at helping me attain the object of my desire. You tell your roomie that you're only doing it for the money, but you're looking for hints that will help you out with your own hapless romantic life," Kyle said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I complement you, by the way. Jason IS a _fine_ piece of ass."

"He's more than a fine piece of ass!" Billy protested angrily. "He's sweet, he's caring, he's helpful, and he's got the most gorgeous voice…" he defended, trailing off when he caught Kyle's smirk. "Oh…oh shit…"

"Just write, Billy," Kyle said, handing him note cards upon which he had written out the "details" of Stan's mystery pen pal. "Write, and no one finds out."

Stan giddily unlocked his PO Box the next day to find the envelope he awaited, a little thicker than normal. He pretty much skipped back to Kenny's room where he carefully but excitedly opened the envelope.

"_Stan_," he read. "_I'm sorry, I totally forgot you wouldn't have a clue on how to reach me…I hope I've fixed this problem. I took out a new PO Box today with an alias on it, so if you want to reach me again, write to Erik Von Kley at PO BOX 8273. I'm pretty interested in Shakespeare, as I guess you can tell…but I do a bit of my own poetry as well, and I think you're a beautiful poem, Stan…your dark hair and your dark cobalt eyes in contrast to your happy, exuberant personality makes me feel happy every time I see you. I was really close to tears every time I saw you sad, and I'm glad you've taken care of whatever was wrong before. I hope today's choice brings you a couple more clues…signed, 'Erik'_."

Stan was still engrossed in this note when Kenny came back from his British Literature class.

"Stan? What is it today? More Shakespeare?"

"Huh? I haven't looked at today's. He got my note and he wrote back!" Stan said excitedly. "Oh, God…I wanna meet him! D'you think it's too soon, Kenny?"

"I do, actually…I would hope you'd be recovered enough to be sure he's not going to be a rebound. Let me see today's," Kenny said, as Stan tore his eyes away from the latest sonnet and handed it to Kenny, who saw the words on the page:

_So am I as the rich, whose blessed key  
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,  
The which he will not every hour survey,  
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.  
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,  
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,  
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,  
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.  
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,  
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,  
To make some special instant special blest,  
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.  
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,  
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. _

"Hmm…I'll have to think over this some, if it's supposed to be another clue to who this Erik is…Are you already writing back, Stan?" Kenny asked, watching the boy engrossed with his writing pad.

"Yeah," Stan admitted. "It's just…I want to make sure he gets these on the days he's not sending me something."

"Good idea," Kenny said. "Alright…I'll let you know what I come up with." Stan nodded and continued to write.

The next day Kyle pulled this letter from Erik's PO Box and quickly took it back to his room.

"_Erik…I guess I can call you that until you feel OK with telling me your real name. Dude, I'd love to see something you wrote about me. I'm really glad I took care of that problem too. I fell for the completely wrong guy, y'see, and I got hurt. But even though this is the only interaction we have, I don't think you're like that. Someone as deep as that can't be as sinister and manipulative as he was, but that's a story for another day. I'm looking forward to your next note. Stan._"

Kyle couldn't be more pleased, despite Stan saying in writing that he thought Kyle was completely the wrong guy for him. The only thing that concerned him was that his plan was working. Working marvelously, nay, beautifully. That thought in his mind, he returned to the Shakespeare anthology to find another sonnet. He would look through a couple of other sources for some love poetry next, and would try to write a poem about Erik's feelings about Stan's contrasting looks and personality.

Nothing would stop him from getting Stan back.

Nothing.

**-.- **

**Notes: Ooh boy. BAD Kyle! BAD, BAD Kyle! **

**Phoenix**** II **


	13. Dubious

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Dubious **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Will Kyle accept criticism of his strategy? **

**-.- **

_Dubious__ • adjective _

_1 a:__ of doubtful promise or outcome _

_b:__ questionable or suspect as to true nature or quality _

_2:__ unsettled in opinion: doubtful _

**-.- **

"Kyle, I've got a couple of misgivings about this whole thing," Billy said, walking hesitantly into the room. Kyle placed a patient, calm, and eerily innocent look on his face before replying.

"Oh? Like what?" he asked, sounding – as he always seemed to do, like he was going to tell Billy that he was wrong even before the other boy finished speaking.

"Like…Stan was your boyfriend, wasn't he?" Kyle nodded. "And he left you that morning you screamed so loud you broke your window and woke up the whole dorm." Another nod. "What happened?"

"Stan's a pussy." Kyle spat this statement with a surprising amount of venom.

"I saw him going to the showers a couple of times," Billy said. "He had welts all over his chest. That wasn't it, was it?" The look on Kyle's face, of fond memories and regret that he couldn't do it any longer, said it all for the freshman.

"Oh, SICK!" he exclaimed. "I'm not helping you bring him back here for you to do THAT again! You have NO idea how much you hurt him, do you? I'm leaving, you sick fuck." 

"You most certainly are not," Kyle said, moving to shut the door and block Billy's path to it.

"Kyle, I can't in good conscience do this to him."

"You didn't even know the fucker." Kyle was approaching Billy, and Billy began to back away.

"No one should have to stay in an abusive relationship," he said. "It's why my Mom left my Dad."

"It's not abuse if there's consent," Kyle spat as Billy found himself backed against the bed.

"I find it hard to believe that anyone would allow themselves to be whipped. Especially not with the look on his face. He didn't want that."

"Well, we'll just see what YOU think is wrong it with it then," Kyle said, and before Billy knew what was happening, he'd been forcefully pushed onto the bed. His shirt was removed and shackles that had been unused for weeks snapped shut around his wrists. His pants were removed and his ankles shacked. He lay there in shock as the first whip strike impacted on his bare flesh, and he screamed. He screamed like he was getting beaten by his father out in the woodshed for various youthful transgressions. He screamed like this for every single strike. Finally, when it stopped, he opened his eyes – which were leaking tears – to see Kyle above him, also nude, and before he could question further, Kyle was inside him, and it was SO MUCH worse than the whipping.

When Kyle finished, he nonchalantly got dressed and brought Billy a piece of paper and a pen.

"You will write the alphabet twice, once in all caps, once in all lower-case letters, followed by the numbers zero to nine. Once you complete this task, you will leave this room. Your employment is terminated effective once I have that," he said, releasing the shackles and allowing the violated boy to complete his assignment. 

Billy had never written faster in his life. Sixty-two characters later, the sheet of paper was thrust into Kyle's hands, along with the pen, and Billy hastily dressed and ran out the door, back to his room, sobbing openly. His hands were too shaky to unlock his door, so he knocked and waited for his roommate, Jason, to answer the door. When he did, he took one look at Billy and pulled him inside, onto his bed, and into a comforting hug that allowed the other to release his pained tears.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Kyle…took me."

"He…fucked you?"

"He whipped me…and then when he stopped, just when I thought it was safe to open my eyes, he just shoved himself inside me…it hurt so much!"

"I can't believe him!" Jason exclaimed. "Don't worry, Bill. He's never going to do that again to you."

"Really, Jase?"

"Even that madman won't lay a hand on another man's man."

"But…I'm single."

"Not anymore you're not," Jason said, leaning down to capture the other boy's lips in a kiss that had Billy crying again, but the tears were those of happiness.

**-.- **

**Notes: I know, I know, you all hate Kyle. I'm so sorry for this…but he's really coming unhinged, ne? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	14. Thwart

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Thwart **

**Disclaimer: Stillnotmine **

**Summary: Kyle is figured out. **

**-.- **

_Thwart__ • verb _

_1 a:__ to run counter to so as to effectively oppose or baffle contravene _

_b:__ to oppose successfully defeat the hopes or aspirations of _

_2:__ to pass through or across _

**-.- **

The next day, Kyle, frustrated beyond belief from the events of the past couple of days, let out a scream of frustration as someone knocked on the door, but answered it anyway, jerking the door open to find a nonplussed, angry Kenny.

"Stop it," the blonde said.

"What?" Kyle asked, confused.

"I know it's you. Stan's mystery correspondent, I mean."

"You're mistaken," Kyle said, moving to shut the door, but Kenny stopped it with his foot and pushed his way inside.

"I'm fucking well not."

"You are, Kenny. Stan's nothing to me. A worthless little pussy."

"You shut your fucking mouth," Kenny said. "That boy that you call a worthless little pussy spent the first week after he left you sobbing his eyes out on my spare bed when he wasn't begging me to drive him to his classes."

"Seems to me you're proving my point," Kyle said snidely, interrupting Kenny.

"He was crying because he loved you. And you took advantage of that, and of him. He's been so happy these past couple of weeks because he thought that those letters and those poems were from someone nice, the type of person he deserves. And now, I'm going to have to tell him that it's you, and he'll be devastated. Again. You're a heartless, cruel bastard."

"Only pussies fall in love," Kyle growled. "Only pussies fall in love with other boys."

"There's no way I would have heard you say that in May," Kenny said. "I don't know what the hell happened to you. But something changed you from the boy we grew up with into this, a monster with no feelings at all."

"I have feelings, Ken," Kyle said, his tone turning darker.

"Oh, really?" the blonde asked. "Care to enlighten?"

"I'm incredibly astonished that you, of all people, could put together such an elaborate puzzle so quickly. I'm incredibly angry that you did. I've still got a smoldering rage from Stan leaving me. And I'm pissed as hell that you're going to ruin my plan."

"Why shouldn't I?" Kenny asked, defensively. "Why in God's name should I allow Stan to walk back to you, knowing full well what's going to happen to him when you get your hands on him? I'd have to be as dumb as you think I am to do that, Kyle. I'm contemplating taking Stan at semester and transferring, just to get him far away from you."

"I would kill you," Kyle said. "If you took my Stan."

"He's not 'your Stan'," Kenny retorted. "He's his own person, and a good person at that. And I'll be damned if I let you ruin him again."

"Be damned then," Kyle said, pulling out the nightstick and advancing on Kenny, who didn't move an inch until Kyle swung the weapon at his head, at which point he ducked and responded with an uppercut that put Kyle on his back. Kenny swiftly disarmed him and placed him in a position that Stan had been so many times, handcuffed to Kyle's bed. He took also the keys to the shackles, as well as Kyle's room key, and cell phone.

"I'm going to go tell Stan," he said. "And if he wants to press battery charges against you, I'll be back. And I won't come alone."

"Kenny, you fucker, untie me!" Kyle shouted at the blonde's retreating form.

"No. And even if he doesn't, I'm VERY tempted to leave you there for the whole weekend. It's time you got a taste of your own medicine, bastard."

And with that, Kenny left the room, leaving Kyle seething. Which was NOT a good thing, even if Stan DID want to press charges.

**-.- **

**Notes: 16 days to go…we're almost at the halfway point. What's going to go down from here? Let's wait and see. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	15. Pinchbeck

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Pinchbeck **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Kenny tells Stan about Kyle's fraud. **

**-.- **

_Pinchbeck__ • noun _

_1:__ an alloy of copper and zinc used especially to imitate gold in jewelry _

_2:__ something counterfeit or spurious _

**-.- **

Kenny reentered his room to find Stan spread out over his bed reading the most recent poem.

"Stan? I need to talk to you," Kenny said.

"What's up, Ken?" Stan asked, so exuberant and happy, it physically pained Kenny to tell him what he had to tell him.

"It's about Erik, actually," he said, cringing inside. "He's not real, Stan."

"I know," the other boy replied, non-plussed. "He told me that when he first wrote back, remember? It's an alias."

"No, I mean…I know who he really is."

"Oh? Why's that bad?"

"He's Kyle," Kenny said bluntly, and he watched Stan's happiness melt away, and he couldn't throw the letters away faster.

"No…no, why would Kyle do that to me?"

"I just talked to him. He's gone mad, Stan. He's lost it. He thinks he owns you, that you're a little pussy for being who you are, when he's almost totally lost who he is and doesn't even know it."

"What…what are we going to do?" Stan asked, softly, trying so hard not to cry.

"I chained him to his bed, and told him I would talk to you. You have two options, Stan," the blonde said gently, sitting next to Stan and putting an arm around his shoulder. "You can either do nothing and let him maintain this fearful hold over you, or …"

"Or what, Ken?"

"Or you can call UPD and have him arrested for battery. What he did to you was wrong, Stan. I know you love him, it has to be hard for you to even consider it, but even if he's convicted, they can send him to a hospital, he can get rehabilitated. But … you really should move on, and find someone who's as deserving of you as the Kyle who loved you, instead of treated you like an object."

"Option two," he was surprised to hear Stan say with practically no hesitation. "Call UPD, Ken…we're going over there."

Kenny reached for his cell phone as Stan pulled on a jacket and followed him outside.

They beat the police cars back to Stan and Kyle's dorm by seconds, and the boys lead them to the top floor. The presence of the police attracted the attention of everyone on the floor, as did the sound of Stan's voice after a nearly three week absence. Kenny was letting the police know what they would find in the room, and they accepted it as a necessity on Kenny's behalf.

When Kenny unlocked the door, he led the police, and Stan, inside to find Kyle with rage-filled eyes.

"You motherfucking bastard!" he roared. "Stan, you son of a bitch, you worthless, son of a BITCH! You didn't even DESERVE my attention, worthless fucking pussy!" Stan bit his lip and sniffled as Kenny unlocked Kyle's restraints.

When Kyle was loose, he let out another roar and slugged Kenny hard, sending him crashing into the dresser, and rushing the two policemen, tackling one and stunning him, then stealing his gun and bringing it to bear on the second when he felt the sting of a TAZER catch him in the chest, followed by the electric crackling that stunned him and made him scream, sending him to his knees and making him drop the gun. Stan then stepped forward and held his ex down while the first policeman rose from the floor and cuffed Kyle's hands. Once restrained, they lifted him up and started him walking for the hallway. The sounds of scuffle and Kyle's screams had brought everyone out of their rooms, and as they reached the elevator and hit the call button, Stan recognized a voice calling his name.

"Stan!"

"Billy? What's up?"

"Why's Kyle under arrest?"

"For battery…for hurting me."

"I want to press charges too."

The elevator arrived and the first cop stepped inside to hold the car as Jason stepped up behind Billy, putting a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder as his grip tightened on a folder in his other hand.

"For what?" asked the policeman in the elevator.

"He whipped me too…and he raped me too," Billy said, head hanging. Kyle spat and protested against his bonds.

"You have evidence?"

"In this folder, sir," Jason said. The officers pondered for a moment, before beckoning the other two to join the group.

"There's room in here. Any of you boys have a car? There's not enough room for you all in the cruiser."

"I do," Jason said.

"Meet us at the city police department. We'll be taking him there."

"We'll follow you," Jason said as the elevator deposited them on the first floor. The police drug a struggling Kyle towards their car. Jason led Billy, Kenny, and Stan to the parking lot, and the only person of the group who wasn't wearing a somber look was Kyle, who was even more furious than he had been when he was tied up by Kenny.

**-.- **

**Notes: I think I might as well tell you…it's rather improbable that this story will end well. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	16. Dissonant

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Dissonant **

**Disclaimer: Not mine **

**Summary: Been wondering what's wrong with Kyle? Find out here! **

**-.- **

Dissonant • adjective

1: marked by lack of agreement discordant

2: incongruous

3: harmonically unresolved

**-.- **

"Mr. Broflovski, we'd like your son to undergo a psychiatric evaluation," the arresting officer told Gerald two hours later. "His friends say he hasn't been like this recently, and we'd like to know why." Gerald was, of course, Kyle's lawyer.

"Absolutely," Gerald said. "I want to know fucking why too!"

"Alright then. We'll have him in Interrogation Room 2 if you want to watch."

Kyle glared sullenly at the psychiatrist, a slight Asian man with a goatee and wire-rims, as he asked him questions. Kyle's answers were, for the most part, very short, and the psychiatrist was thankful for the profile he'd been given both by the police via Stan and Gerald.

After an hour, the psychiatrist left the room with his notes. Kyle stared at the one-way window, knowing that his father was likely behind it, and was probably going to disown him. He'd disgraced his family, certainly, and wouldn't be allowed home no matter the outcome. This would normally make him angry, but instead…he let a small tear run down his face, which escaped the notice of everyone in the observation alcove.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" Gerald asked, and Stan and Kenny – given a break from their depositions – crowded closer as well.

"It's a classic Freudian case, for the most part," the doctor replied. "His id is loose, and it's running unchecked for the most part because of a moral or ethical Oedipus Complex."

"Translate this for us normal people?" Kenny asked.

"He's taking his mother's public personality and applying it in private. He's also a tiny bit delusional."

"So my son's crazy?" Gerald asked.

"Emotionally unstable," the doctor replied. "Not insane. But he's still not fit for the outside world."

"So … you're recommending that he be institutionalized?" Gerald asked. Stan looked ready to cry again.

"Institutionalization would probably be best," the doctor said with a nod. "But, Mr. Broflovski, I did seem to get the feeling that he's apprehensive about his punishment from you. He bristled when I mentioned your name. I think that the events of the night are just catching up to him."

"Can I speak with him?" Gerald asked, and the policeman nodded. Gerald went into the room and Kyle lifted his head.

"Hi, dad," he said dispassionately.

"Kyle," Gerald replied evenly.

"…What did he tell you?"

"I raised you wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I let your mother go on her crusades. You were influenced by that, but not in a good way. You adopted her public persona and you're applying it in private to the ones who love you."

"What are you going to do about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're going to disown me and throw me out, aren't you?"

"You're worried about what _I'm_ going to punish you with?"

"Well, yeah, obviously."

"Kyle, you've got a _lot_ more to worry about right now. That Billy boy is charging you with rape."

"I did, though. He didn't ask for it…at least, not from me."

"And what about Stan?"

"Yeah, I hit him."

"You're going to admit this in court?"

"Umm…yeah? I did it, didn't I?"

"Do you have any excuse?"

"You just told me I do."

"And what do you think I just told you?"

"I can plead insanity and they'll throw me in a home for a guilty plea."

"And you can live with that?"

"I have to live with that."

"You really don't think you have a chance in court?"

"You're the lawyer. How often do insanity defenses work in rape and battery cases?"

"Not that often," Gerald admitted.

"So…will you talk to the DA?"

Gerald allowed his son a rueful grin. "I'll talk to the DA."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Kyle."

**-.- **

**Notes: The saga is not over. Note that Kyle doesn't appear to regret what he did. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	17. Salubrious

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Salubrious **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Kahl gets a visitor awaiting his day in court. **

**-.- **

_Salubrious__ • adjective _

_ Favorable to or promoting health or well-being _

**-.- **

"Mr. Broflovski, you have a visitor," the guard informed him, unlocking his cell door. Kyle stood up from his moping and allowed his hands to be cuffed in front of him and himself to be led towards the visiting room.

The guard let him in the room, which contained a single table and two chairs. Already in the room, head between his hands, was …

"Stan?" Kyle asked, disbelieving the sight before his eyes.

"Hi Kyle," Stan said morosely as Kyle took a seat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need closure."

"Stan?" Kyle's voice contained a hint of … fear.

"What, my big, genius ex-boyfriend doesn't know what closure means?" Stan asked harshly. Kyle reflected that it was almost like their roles over the past month had instantly reversed.

"Why?" the redhead asked.

"So I can move on and be with someone else."

"But…" Kyle began, before being cut off.

"But what, Ky? You thought I'd wait for you to be released from wherever the hell you're gonna be sent, embrace you with open arms, hand you your whip back and tell you to go to town on me!? I'm one of the people pressing charges against you, r-tard!"

"But…" Kyle tried again. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"No shit?" Stan asked. "You think I read in my horoscope that day that I would be whipped and fucked dry by someone I loved?"

"Actually, it DID say that," Kyle pointed out. Stan just glared. "But that's not my point…"

"What's your fucking point then?" Stan asked.

"I never saw our relationship going there, leading here. I saw us together around our thirties, somewhere up in Oregon or Washington State, in a large wooden house by a lake or a beach or something…and just every night, after dinner but before sunset, we'd just go out, run around in long-sleeves and jeans, frolic on the beach, and watch the sunset from each other's arms sitting beneath one the pine trees in our yard. That's all I ever dreamed of…and now, I'm sitting in prison for hurting you, for hurting someone else, for RAPE, of all things, and that dream is just that, a dream." Stan's eyes were brimming with tears.

"You have no idea how much I want to believe that," he said. "I've been wondering since the start if you really ever loved me. I left you because I came to the conclusion that you didn't, because you didn't care how I felt about what you were doing. Now you spring this on me…and I don't know whether to trust that this is genuine, or that you're just leading me on again, lying to me again, so you can hurt me again."

Now it was Kyle's turn to cry. "I'm going to plead guilty to all of it," he said. "Did Dad tell you that? That I'm going to throw my life away? That I'm going to do it willingly? Because I am, Stan. I'm going to go into that courtroom, I'm going to stand in front of that judge, and tell the world what a bastard I was. Dad says that they're going to have me sent to the mental hospital. I can only hope that you'll be there to help me through this."

"No." Stan said the word in a voice that indicated that he was truly scared. "No, you've gotta be kidding."

"I'm not. Won't you be there for me?"

"After what you did? Why the fuck can't you just make this easy for me?"

"Why would I give the man I love PERMISSION to go chasing after other guys?"

"Because you're not worthy of me!" Stan snarled back. "Because you are what you just said you were going to tell the world you are, a bastard. A bastard who coldly manipulates people and does whatever he thinks he needs to do to get what he wants, without any regard for the feelings of others, especially those he's manipulating. I bet you don't even know what love is. And you sure as hell don't deserve mine. Goodbye, Kyle," Stan said, signaling to the guard by the door to his entrance that he was ready to leave.

After the door shut, Kyle realized, with a sense of finality and impending doom, that he was truly at rock bottom, and really HAD lost everything. He would leave the psychiatric facility with the clothes on his back and nothing else, because he would be disowned, his parents would close his bank accounts and transfer his money to their accounts, he wouldn't have any place to go or anyone to stay with, he wouldn't be able to return to college, he expected the expulsion notice within days, and he wouldn't have anyone waiting for him when he got out. He would have to change, and work on himself.

As for Stan, he wiped away the final tear he hoped he would shed on Kyle as he left the prison. He got in his car, returned to college, and worked with Kenny to move all of Kyle's belongings out of what had been their room, and his back in them. Kyle's parents would be there the next day for Kyle's hearing, and they would take it then. Stan would soon have a new roommate, and he would move on with his life, a free man again.

Or so he hoped.

**-.- **

**Notes: Done with this arc, effectively. Kyle'll get his hearing tomorrow, probably, and within the next twelve days after that, we'll see what Kyle does to change himself. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	18. Thesaurus

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Thesaurus **

**Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this chapter are not necessarily representative of those maintained by the creators of South Park, M. Stone and T. Parker, nor their corporate masters, Viacom and S. Redstone. **

**Summary: Kyle is put away. **

**-.- **

_Thesaurus__ • noun _

_1:__ treasury, storehouse _

_2 a:__ a book of words or of information about a particular field or set of concepts; __especially_****_ a book of words and their synonyms _

_b:__ a list of subject headings or descriptors usually with a cross-reference system for use in the organization of a collection of documents for reference and retrieval _

**-.- **

Kyle was wearing his only suit as he was lead up the courthouse steps by two Sherriff's deputies. His face was one of resolute resignation. Even though there was no real point in it for him, he still was determined to begin his atonement. And the first step in accomplishing THAT was to plead guilty to the charges.

His dad had arrived shortly after Stan had left and informed him of the terms of the deal. Kyle would plead guilty on all counts, seven of first degree battery, one of second degree battery, one of first degree sexual assault, which had been downgraded from the rape charge, one of assault with a deadly weapon, one of resisting arrest, and one of disturbing the peace. For this, he would be sentenced to a maximum of ten years, all to be served at the Colorado State Psychiatric Hospital.

When he entered the courtroom, he found everyone there waiting for him. Kenny was in the audience, but despite his repeated scans of the assembled people, he couldn't find Stan, and was even more disheartened.

The Judge asked the prosecutor to read the list of charges associated with Kyle's case. The DA, a twiggy-looking man in his forties, picked up a legal pad.

"Mr. Broflovski faces seven counts of first degree infliction of hurt, one of second degree infliction of hurt, one of first degree sexual hurt, one of hurt with a –" the man said before being interrupted by the judge slamming his gavel hard.

"Damnit, Mr. Simmons, this isn't District Court in Lincoln. Read the actual charges against this man!"

"Yeah, Mr. Simmons," Kyle snarked. "Stop reading your PC thesaurus for synonyms to assault and tell everyone what I did."

Simmons looked wounded, but cleared his throat and began again. "Defendant Broflovski is charged with seven counts of first degree battery, one count of second degree battery, one count of first degree sexual assault, one count of assault with a deadly weapon, one count of resisting arrest, and one count of disturbing the peace." Simmons flinched every time he said the proper charge, and Kyle wondered what the hell he was doing in a prosecutor's office.

"Mr. Broflovski, Mr. Simmons informs me that you and your client have agreed to a plea deal."

"Yes, your Honor," Gerald said, rising.

"Mr. Broflovski, how do you plead to the charges of First Degree Battery?" the judge asked Kyle.

"Guilty, your Honor."

"And the charge of Second Degree Battery?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"First Degree sexual assault?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"Assault with a deadly weapon?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"Resisting arrest?"

"Guilty, your Honor."

"Disturbing the peace?"

"Guilty as charged, your Honor."

"Well," the judge said, sitting back. "I don't suppose you have any explanation for why?"

"I defer that question to Mr. Simmons, your Honor," Kyle said. "It's relevant to my sentencing."

"Very well, Mr. Broflovski, you may be seated. Mr. Simmons, what punishment do the People recommend?"

"Mr. Broflovski has underlying psychological complications that prevent him from functioning as a proper member of society. Our office's psychiatric write-up on him was given to your Honor yesterday afternoon," Simmons said, and the judge nodded to indicate that he had received it. "The People recommend a sentence not exceeding ten years in the State Psychiatric Hospital."

"Mr. Broflovski?" the judge asked Gerald, "Is there anything you or anyone you may have brought with you would like to say to influence my decision?"

Gerald started to shake his head "no," but was interrupted by Kenny.

"Yes, your Honor," the blonde said, rising.

"What is your name?" the judge asked.

"Kenny McKormick. I grew up with Mr. Broflovski the defendant in South Park, and I helped one of his victims recover from the damage the defendant did."

"Very well, Mr. McKormick, what would you like me to do with your friend?"

"Your Honor, Kyle has a very, very, very warped mind. He doesn't seem to understand that what he did was wrong, but he does accept that _we_ think it's wrong. He needs someone to help him find remorse for his actions. He's a good kid, well, he was anyway, and once he knows that what he's done is wrong, I see no reason to confine him any longer."

"Very well, Mr. McKormick, as you likely know your friend better than I…Kyle Broflovski, you are hereby sentenced to be committed to the State Psychiatric Hospital for a period not to exceed ten years, with a provision for early release pending the report of the chief of staff of the hospital that you are remorseful for you actions. We are adjourned." The judge slammed his gavel down, and Kyle gave his father one last hug before the deputies took him away again.

Less than six hours later, Kyle went from a windowless cell in a county jail to a white-walled, padded room in the State Psychiatric Facility. And the first thing he did was request a notebook.

**-.- **

**Notes: This notebook is crucial to the ending of the story, I promise. **

**Phoenix**** II**


	19. Fissiparous

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Fissiparous **

**Disclaimer: Do I have to put this here? I do? Shit. **

**Summary: Stan seeks to get over Kyle's abuses. **

**-.- **

_Fissiparous__ • adjective _

_ tending to break up into parts divisive _

**-.- **

Stan stood nervously in the doorway of the room, waiting for the group leader to notice him and invite him in. He fiddled with the strap on his satchel, wondering just how he'd managed to let his counselor talk him into going to this domestic violence support group. They would look at him funny when he had to say why he was there.

"Yes? Can I help you?" a feminine voice came floating his way from the center of the room, startling Stan.

"Umm…hi, I'm Stan," he said, forcing a small grin. "Dr. Rosenstein said he'd let you know I would be coming…"

"Oh, Stan!" she exclaimed. "Yes, yes, I got it, come on in and introduce yourself!" The woman sounded far too cheery for her own good.

Stan took a seat in the large circle – wondering why support groups always met in circles – next to two girls who looked like they had been on crack, and across from another boy.

"Umm…I'm Stan," he said. "I…I guess I'm here … because my boyfriend hit me, and I'm not really getting over it well…" he explained, looking for the strange reactions. Oddly enough, the only funny look he got was from the other boy in the room. Probably because Stan didn't really look as non-confrontational as he was. Stan would do anything to avoid getting into fights, and this was part of what had caused his problems with Kyle.

"Welcome, Stan," the leader said, and the session continued, mostly in silence, and Stan wondered again what the hell the point of this was.

So caught up was he in his musings, he missed the woman ending the session and was only brought out of them by a poke to his shoulder. He snapped out of it and was greeted by the BLUEST eyes he'd ever seen staring at him with an appraising look. Starting, Stan realized that the blue eyes were part of a somewhat pale face beneath a scruffily-styled mass of blonde hair. It was the other boy.

"I, uh…couldn't help but hear earlier that you said your boyfriend had hit you…" he started, keeping his head up but glancing all over the place.

"Yeah…I noticed you kinda spazzed out when you said that," Stan said.

"Well, I mean…you don't really look the type," he said.

"I get that a lot," Stan said.

"I'm Ryan," the other said, sticking out his hand. "My boyfriend used to beat me too. Wanna go get a cup of coffee and talk about life outside of the ' Friendship Circle'?"

"Oh, that's what it's called?" Stan asked, taking Ryan's hand as the other nodded. "Coffee sounds good. I don't have any more classes until tonight."

Hands still together without a thought, Stan and Ryan left the room and headed to the Union coffee shop.

**-.- **

**Notes: Stanny-wanny's movin' on. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	20. Quidnunc

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Quidnunc **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Would I be me if it was? Nah. **

**Summary: Someone wants to know something. **

**-.- **

_Quidnunc__ • noun _

_ A person who seeks to know all the latest news or gossip busybody _

**-.- **

Stan was startled by the excited knocks upon his door. He got up and walked over to answer it, pulling it open to reveal an excited Kenny.

"Dude!" the other blonde in Stan's life said, pushing his way into the room. "You've gotta tell me about this new boy I've seen you with. You look like you're a million miles away, even when you're in the most animated discussions with him. Who is he?"

"His name's Ryan," Stan said, and his eyes glazed over. "He's fucking adorable…he looks kinda like an angel, my own private little angel. He's a genius with fashion, but it's not his major. His eyes are the bluest eyes I've ever seen…kinda like an ocean-blue, not really sapphiric like mine, and they match wonderfully with his blonde hair and beautiful face…" he gushed, and Kenny noticed a bit of, erm, _activity_ as he spoke of Ryan.

"Wait, hold on…I think I know him from somewhere," Kenny interrupted. "He orders only venti mocha frappuchinos with hazelnut, vanilla, and extra cream, right?"

"Yeah…" Stan answered, slightly confused as to both how Kenny knew this and why his friend was whipping out his phone.

"Dude, Neil! It's _that_ Ryan! Yeah, yeah, the one Jones gushes over. Mr. Venti mocha frappuchinos with hazelnut, vanilla, and extra cream. He's hooked up with Stan!" 

"Kenny!" Stan objected.

"I gotta go!" his friend said, hanging up and dragging Stan to his bed. "So? So? What do you two do?"

"I – er, nothing," Stan said. "Just talk."

"_JUST_ talk?" Kenny asked, like it was an affront against God to take relationships slow. Well, for Kenny, it probably was.

"Yes, just talk," Stan said, irritated. "We're both pretty fragile right now, we don't want to do something we might regret later."

"Do you _want_ to do anything more?" Kenny asked, ready to slap Stan should the other answer incorrectly.

"I guess," Stan said. "He's gorgeous though…too perfect to touch, really."

"Stan?" Kenny asked.

"I mean…he looks delicate. I don't wanna hurt him."

"Stan, how could you possibly hurt him?"

"I dunno…touch him wrong, or something…"

"Dude, Ryan's anything but delicate. He once beat up a guy in class for calling some of his writing gay. He can handle himself."

"He DID!?" Stan asked, astonished.

"Dude…you look really happy with him. I think that if the two of you talk it out and decide you want to try something more than just holding hands in Starbucks, you should go for it."

"Says the horniest man on campus."

"Says your friend."

"I hate you sometimes, Kenny."

"I know. Catch ya later, Stan. I'll leave you to your Ryany fantasies." And with that, Kenny was out the door before Stan could retort. Leaning back on his bed and gazing toward the closing door, Stan noticed that he was DEFINITELY in a situation that "Ryany fantasies" would definitely be of use. He proceeded to indulge himself like a chocolate addict who lost their strength when the dessert cart rolled around.

**-.- **

**Notes: Ooh…onleh 10 days left in this tale! **

**Phoenix**** II **


	21. Genial

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Genial **

**Disclaimer: Nooooooot miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine **

**Summary: Let's check in with our good friend, Kyle Broflovski, over at the insane asylum! **

**-.- **

_Genial__ • adjective _

_1:__ favorable to growth or comfort mild _

_2:__ marked by or diffusing sympathy or friendliness _

_3:__ displaying or marked by genius_

**-.- **

"I want to see Dr. Herschbaum," Kyle murmured at the orderly that brought him his morning meal. Kyle was one of few patients that weren't receiving medications. The orderly set the tray next to him, and Kyle didn't even look up from his new notebook. It was his fifteenth since entering the asylum. He went through one every three months or so. Dr. Herschbaum was the only one who knew what the broken young man was doing with them, and he was the one who ordered Kyle's new notebooks.

"I'll let him know, Mr. Broflovski," the orderly said, walking out. Kyle took a look at the breakfast that day: biscuits and jelly, because Dr. Herschbaum had also ordered the kitchen to feed Kyle Kosher meals. Or at least as Kosher as they could manage. Kyle was sure that the rest of the populace was being fed sausage gravy over their biscuits, but it didn't matter to him. He didn't open the jelly, eating the biscuits half at a time, pausing to a sip of coffee between halves.

He had just finished when the orderly returned and let Kyle know that the doctor would see him now. Kyle set the pen down in the notebook and got up to follow the orderly to Herschbaum's office. Kyle had been assigned to him because 1) he was Jewish, and 2) because Herschbaum was one of the friendliest psychologists in the building.

"Good morning, Kyle!" Herschbaum said cheerfully. "Come in, have a seat. Javier, if you would, please?" The orderly took the hint and shut the door, waiting outside.

"Good morning, Ben," Kyle said. "I have a question."

"Is it about Liam and Tyler?" Ben asked. Liam Baker and Tyler Lake were the main characters in the story Kyle was writing. The story that had filled up nearly 1000 handwritten pages in Kyle's neat, by-no-means large handwriting. A tale of love, loss, and love re-kindled.

"Kind of," Kyle said. Liam and Tyler were, to Kyle, analogous of himself and Stan, but Ben didn't really know that. "You're a smart guy, right?"

"I like to think myself one, yes," Ben replied.

"And you make a living counseling people, right?"

"You know that, Kyle," Ben said, a little chastisingly.

"What do you do if you're in love with someone that hates your guts?" Kyle asked, and Ben started. As far as he knew, Liam and Tyler's relationship was doing quite well.

"Is this a plot twist, Kyle?"

"Answer the question," Kyle said, gripping the arms of the chair.

"Who are you in love with?"

"Answer. The. Question," Kyle growled through gritted teeth.

"I need context, Kyle!"

"I want Stan back!"

"Stan…"

"The one I hurt. The first one I hurt."

"Your ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"You want him back?"

"Did I _not_ just say that?"

"Why do you think he hates your guts?"

"Told me so."

"When?"

"Before my plea hearing. Told me he wanted to move on, put me behind him, because I didn't know what love was, and that I didn't deserve his."

"Well, Kyle, you know the axiom, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

"But I don't want to lose. I want him."

"You had him," Ben pointed out. "And then you lost him."

"You think I don't _FUCKING_ know that?" Kyle seethed. "I've made myself PERFECTLY clear of that. I remind myself _EVERY_. FUCKING. _DAY_ that I fucked it up."

"Do you think he has moved on?" Ben asked.

"He said he wasn't going to be there for me when … if … I get out of this place. He doesn't want me anymore, he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"You said he told you that you don't deserve his love…" Ben said.

"Didn't," Kyle corrected. "Does that mean I had it, then lost it?"

"It could," Ben conceded. "I don't really know what to tell you, Kyle, except that you should try to get over him before you leave here…and based on your progress, I expect that to come soon."

"Really?" Kyle asked.

"But not if you're likely to ruin all you've gained and all he's done to recover these past five years. Like you said, he's likely moved on, and you showing up on his doorstep wouldn't do anything but hurt him."

"But," Kyle tried to interject, "I don't WANT to hurt him anymore."

"I'm not talking about whipping him. I'm talking about psychologically."

"You mean…just looking at me again could ruin his life?" Kyle asked, scared and mostly horrified.

"I'm sorry…it's not a good idea to track him down, Kyle," Ben said gently.

Kyle had tears streaming down his face, so he didn't look up to reply.

"I want to go back to my room," he said softly.

"I'm really sorry, Kyle," Ben said, helping him up and leading him to the doorway where Javier waited on the other side. "But you need to avoid Stan."

Kyle was wracked with quiet sobs as Javier led him back to his room, and paid no attention to his notebook, returning to his bed, burying his face in the pillow, and allowing his sorrow to become vocal.

**-.- **

**Notes: Can you see where this story is going to go? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	22. Prognosticate

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Prognosticate **

**Disclaimer: Notmine **

**Summary: Stan has a new love, but has he forgotten Kyle's abuses? **

**-.- **

_Prognosticate__ • verb _

_1:__ to foretell from signs and symptoms predict _

_2:__ presage _

**-.- **

Stan woke up with his nerves on fire, sweat flowing freely from his pores, and a pained scream escaping his mouth. He sat up with a start and glanced at the alarm clock. 3:11 A.M. He clutched a hand to his chest and let out a moan. Beside him, Ryan stirred and sat up with a concerned look.

"Stan? What's the matter?"

"Hurts…I can feel them…"

"Feel what?" Ryan asked, groggily, running his hand over Stan's chest. "I don't feel anything."

"Where he…whipped me…" Stan panted. "Hurts…just like new."

Ryan took Stan into his arms and held him. "Why do you think it's come back now, of all times? Especially at…three in the morning…?"

"I dunno," Stan said, trying to relax. "Today's five year since I left him…like, permanently left him…"

"Wasn't he committed?" Ryan asked. "Like, to the mental hospital?"

"Yeah," Stan confirmed. "That's what's so strange about this…he's nowhere near me…and it's never happened on any other anniversary."

"Well…just try and get some sleep, 'kay?" Ryan said. "Do you want me to keep holding you?"

"Please?" Stan asked, pressing closer to his partner. "It's helping."

"Alright," Ryan said, smiling down at Stan. "I will."

**-.- **

Kyle woke up, his right hand on fire, and himself screaming into his pillow.

He, however, had no one to comfort him. All he could do was cradle his appendage and cry.

He didn't know why his right hand hurt.

He didn't know what was to come in his life.

**-.- **

**Notes: Feh. I hate this one. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	23. Acerbic

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Acerbic **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Kyle has been making progress towards his release. **

**-.- **

_Acerbic__ • adjective _

_A__cid in temper, mood, or tone _

**-.- **

"Kyle?" a voice asked from his door. Kyle recognized the voice, it was Ben's voice. "Kyle, can I come in?"

Kyle just made a grunting noise and returned to his notebook. He'd had Javier buy him a pack of cigarettes. Kyle didn't smoke, at least not with any regularity, but he'd had a craving today. A tin ashtray sat by his left elbow, and a half-completed smoke rested in between the index and middle fingers of his left hand. His right hand was occupied forcefully writing.

"Kyle, it's Ben."

"I heard you the first fucking time," Kyle responded in a level tone, just loud enough to be heard outside. "I'm busy."

"Kyle, I need to speak with you," Ben said.

"And I'm not available," Kyle replied, taking another drag from the cigarette.

"It's about your remaining time with us."

"You can come in all you want, but I'm writing," Kyle replied, and sure enough he heard the sound of a key in the lock, heard Ben's footsteps as he came in, heard the creak of his bed as he sat upon it.

"I'll wait," the doctor said. Kyle etched out the last few lines of the chapter he was writing, and turned to face Ben, who held out a duffel bag.

"You're being released," the psychiatrist said, and it was all Kyle could do to not drop the cigarette. His jaw, on the other hand, was a different matter.

"I think you're at a point now where you feel truly sorry for what you did to your lover. Our last conversation in my office highlights that. So, you're being released."

"Released?" asked Kyle.

"Yes. This is to pack your things. You've actually not needed to be here for several hours."

"But…where am I gonna go?" Kyle asked.

"Your parents?" Ben asked.

"Have erased me from existence."

"Your friends?"

"Haven't got any."

"Back to college?"

"Got expelled."

"Can't you be re-admitted?"

"Overnight?"

"Hotel?"

"No money."

"We'll give you a small amount of money…$500. Should get you by for a short while," Ben said with a shrug.

Kyle let out a small smile.

"Thank you, Ben."

"I'll help you pack," the other man offered. The first thing Kyle packed was his clothes, and his notebooks.

Twenty minutes later, Kyle was in a cab with $500 in his pocket. He told the driver to take him to a cheap hotel. He needed someplace with a phone connected to directory assistance.

**-.- **

**Notes: Well, there you go. Now, with a week left in this story, how's it gonna end? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	24. Exculpatory

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Exculpatory **

**Disclaimer: Not Mine **

**Summary: Kyle's officially not insane anymore. **

**-.- **

_Exculpatory__ • adjective _

_ tending or serving to clear from alleged fault or guilt _

**-.- **

Stan Marsh expected one of several things from the doorbell to the small home he shared with his boyfriend ringing at six in the evening near the end of September in an election year. Afterall, there was a resurgence in grass-roots, door-to-door campaigning after people complained about the impersonality of the Internets and phone calls. It could have been one of several politicians campaigning for local or state office that Stan opened the door to reveal while Ryan was swearing at the lumpy mashed potatoes in the kitchen.

Instead, he pulled open the door to reveal a bedraggled, disheveled, and unshaven Kyle Broflovski.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Stan asked, not asking Kyle to come in, even though he was obviously burdened by the duffel bag he had strapped to his shoulders, and even though it was raining, and had been all day.

"I wanted to talk to you," Kyle said.

"I thought they had you locked up for another five years."

"I met their benchmarks."

"And they let you out early?"

"Yes."

"So why are you here, interrupting my new life?"

"I wanted to apologize to you, to tell you that I _am_ sorry for doing all those terrible things to you, to tell you that over the past five years I've discovered that somewhere deep inside I _did_ love you, and that I still _do_, and that I want you back," Kyle said.

Kyle Broflovski expected Stan to do one of many things after he told him this. Stan was a nice boy, a caring and sweet person. It was raining. Kyle had walked here from Denver. It had taken him three weeks, during which time he'd barely eaten, hadn't shaved, and taken showers naturally. Kyle had at least expected Stan to let him in. Kyle had hoped that Stan would be alone. He hadn't been able to see anyone else in the house. Kyle had hoped that Stan would take him back, after Kyle told him what he was sure Stan had wanted to hear from him, even back then.

What Kyle hadn't expected was for Stan to do what he did:

Slam the door in Kyle's face.

**-.- **

**Notes: Lesigh, another short one. But there will be longer ones in the immediate future. I promise this. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	25. Commensurate

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Commensurate **

**Disclaimer: No mine. **

**Summary: Stan slams doors loudly… **

**-.- **

_Commensurate__ • adjective _

_1:__ equal in measure or extent coextensive _

_2:__ corresponding in size, extent, amount, or degree proportionate _

**-.- **

"Stan? Who was at the door?" Ryan asked, coming in from the kitchen to inquire as to the nature of the house-shuddering bang from the slamming door.

"Nobody," Stan seethed.

"You seem to be pretty pissed off at nobody," his partner replied, moving to the door. "Was it that family-values mayoral candidate again?"

"Worse," Stan said, moving to block Ryan. "Don't worry about it."

"How could it be worse? You didn't even invite them in from the rain?"

"He doesn't deserve it," Stan replied, as Ryan tried to move around him for the doorknob.

"Stan, don't be ridiculous," Ryan said, pushing Stan out of the way and opening the door. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as Kyle and Ryan came face to face. Kyle wore a shocked look on his face, from Stan slamming the door on him or from seeing Ryan it was impossible to tell.

"Who're you?" both asked the other at the same time.

"I'm Ryan Davis," Stan's lover said, looking at the bedraggled man in front of him. "I'm Stan's partner."

"Kyle Broflovski," Kyle replied, not relinquishing the grip on the thankfully-waterproof duffel. "I used to be."

Stan shot Ryan an "I-told-you-so" look as Ryan stood confused as to what he should do next.

"Would you like to come in until it stops raining?" he asked, standing out of the entryway. "I know this isn't anywhere near where you grew up. What brings you here, anyway?"

"I'm looking for someone to stay with while I try to get back on my feet, and everyone else I knew turned me down."

"Even Fatass?" Stan asked. Kyle glared at him.

"ESPECIALLY Fatass." Kyle made his way inside, taking off his well-worn sneakers and setting his duffel bag next to them as Ryan darted off and returned with a large towel that he wrapped Kyle in.

"Well, you can stay for a while, I guess," the blonde said, before being dragged into an adjoining room by Stan, who muttered something about "a word in private."

"Are you insane?" Stan asked after shutting the door to the study.

"Stan, c'mon, we've got plenty of room here. They wouldn't have let him out if he wasn't better," Ryan replied.

"That's not the point, whether or not – and I'm inclined to say not – he's better. The point is, he wants to take me from you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ryan scoffed.

"No, I'm serious," Stan said. "That's why I slammed the door. He told me he wanted me back."

"And you don't want him again, though?"

"Of course not!" Stan protested. "After what he put me through? I love you more than I EVER did Kyle."

"Stan…" Ryan said, "Be reasonable. If you love me, and I know you do, then Kyle can't do anything to steal you from me. Besides, my parents were nice enough to let us live here and only pay the extraneous services, like the cable and the Internet. If I feel fine with letting Kyle stay with us a while, he's staying with us. Now, please put out another plate for dinner…"

"Ryan…I have a really bad feeling about this."

"I'll reward you tonight," his lover said, reaching out and patting his crotch.

"You know just how to get to me, don't you?" Stan asked with a sigh, reaching for the doorknob and exiting the room, heading for the kitchen without even a glance at Kyle.

"Kyle, if you wanna follow me, I'll take you up to the guest bedroom," Ryan said, reaching for Kyle's duffel before Kyle raced to it and snatched it from his hands. The blonde boy quirked his eyebrow, but shrugged it off and proceeded up the stairs to show Kyle the room he would be occupying, gave him a chance to change into some dry clothes, and brought him back downstairs for dinner, where he didn't say a word, letting Stan and Ryan talk about their days. He didn't even look up from his plate.

That night, he silently cried himself to sleep, after listening to the faint sounds of lovemaking from down the hall, and looking out his rain-streaked window to see the place he'd always dreamed of: the beach, the small lake, the pine forest. Stan was living his dream, without him.

But Kyle no longer felt anger and hostility towards his ex, or his new lover. He instead felt sad, despondent, and an overwhelming sense of despair that only seemed to make the lightening brighter and the thunder louder.

**-.- **

**Notes: L'awww…now, when are you lot going to find out what was in his notenbooken? Sometime in the next four days, LOL!! **

**Phoenix**** II **


	26. Bodacious

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Bodacious **

**Disclaimer: Mine, it is not. **

**Summary: Kyle is starting to realize that he doesn't have a chance. **

**-.- **

_Bodacious__ • adjective _

_1 __Southern & Midland__ outright, unmistakable _

_2:__ remarkable, noteworthy _

_3:__ sexy, voluptuous _

**-.- **

Kyle didn't venture forth from the room he occupied in Stan and Ryan's house except for five times daily: three to eat, once to the bathroom in the morning, and once at night to shower. He spent his days writing, as he had for the past 1500 or so. The only difference was that the writing now had a sense of despair. Liam had done something stupid, and had recovered, only to find Tyler, the love of his life, in love with another: Stephen Carey.

He cried to himself as Tyler shunned Liam, who he had once professed a love greater than all the water in the ocean, for another. He cried to himself as Liam sat alone on a hillside with the bouquet of flowers he had bought for Tyler, picking off the petals. He cried to himself as the petals ended up on "He loves me not," and as Liam finally felt the crushing weight of all he had done. He cried, openly sobbing, as he wrote Liam's death scene. He couldn't continue after the boy he'd modeled after himself kicked the chair away. He'd pushed himself away from the desk and crouched in a fetal position on the floor, sobbing, weeping.

Ryan heard Kyle's anguish, but he waited for Stan to return home to decide what to do about it. He was certain he didn't want his lover to catch him comforting Kyle. Stan did NOT like his ex boyfriend. It was explicable, but Ryan didn't like it when people were sad. Even if he didn't like them by association, he still didn't want people to be sad.

"What's going on?" Stan asked, entering from the garage and hearing the crying.

"It's Kyle," Ryan said from the kitchen table. "He's been like this all afternoon. Something's really upsetting him."

"I don't care," Stan said. "If he's hurting, he deserves it."

"Stan, don't be an asshole! You used to at least be his friend, and if there's ONE thing he needs right now, it's a friend. I won't break up with you for being around other guys, because I know you love me."

"But I don't think I can be his friend…" Stan said. "He hurt me too badly."

"Has he apologized?" Ryan asked.

"Well, yeah…"

"Did you forgive him?"

"Of course not!" Stan exclaimed. "Would you have?"

"Yes."

Stan did a double take. "What?"

"I would have forgiven him. That's what friends do, Stan, they forgive each other. It's also what good Christians do. 'Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us.' Don't tell me you've forgotten that."

Stan scowled. "Alright…let's go try and make nice with the crying boy."

"And don't be a grouse about it! Say it like you mean it!" Ryan said, following him up the stairs. When they reached Kyle's room, Stan went to Kyle's side to try and get him to stop crying, but Ryan's attention was drawn to the stack of notebooks, as well as the open one on the desk. Going over to it, he flipped back a few pages and read over Liam's last thoughts, his last monologue, and his last actions. The young blonde writer was stunned at the profoundness of it all, and the emotion put into it. He immediately understood why Kyle was crying and immediately decided he needed to read all of it, no matter how long it took.

Stan had stopped Kyle's tears, and was helping him stand up. When Kyle saw what Ryan was doing, he looked a little scared.

"This is good," the blonde commented. "Can I read the rest of it, Kyle? I know there's a lot of it, and I don't think it's quite finished, but … well, this WAS my major."

Kyle could only nod. Nod and hope that Ryan wasn't clever enough to draw the parallels. Because if he did, or he let Stan read it and Stan did, Kyle would be out on the street faster than you could say "Get the fuck away from here."

"C'mon, then…soup's ready." Kyle wrinkled his nose briefly, but then he caught a whiff of the home-cooked soup and brightened. It smelled like home.

**-.- **

**Notes: Just how clever IS Ryan? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	27. Fugitive

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Fugitive **

**Disclaimer: Ot-nay Ine-may. **

**Summary: Kyle is letting Ryan read his story. **

**-.- **

_Fugitive__ • noun _

_1:__ a person who flees or tries to escape; __especially__ refugee _

_2:__ something elusive or hard to find _

**-.- **

_ Liam Baker did not know of love. He'd heard of it, of course, but he did not know of love. He had never truly _BEEN_ loved. His mother told him she loved him, in a motherly way, but she never expressed it. Liam could never quite do good enough in his mother's eyes, nor would his mother ever tell him why he couldn't do things. Instead of talking with him, she took up placards and went to war against things she felt he should not know or be exposed to. _

_ Thus, when he first saw Tyler Lake, Liam was confused. Truthfully, it wasn't the first time he'd seen the other boy, they'd known each other since childhood, it was the first time he actually _SAW_ Tyler. Saw him for the lovely boy he was. Liam, though, could not identify these feelings. So he hid them. He gathered them into a bundle and locked them into a tiny, tiny area in his mind. He put a mask over his personality that prevented anyone from discovering what these feelings were before Liam himself did. _

_ Five years later, Tyler came to Liam, shuffling his feet, wringing his hands, and acting very nervous and un-Tyler-like. Liam had appraised his friend carefully, and wondered what was the matter. Tyler had blurted out an unintelligible stream of syllables and phrases. When Liam had only responded by looking at him strangely and cocking an eyebrow, Tyler had worn an expression of desperation and worry before reaching up and seizing his friend, crashing their lips together. Liam was then able to figure out what his friend had said: "I think I love you." _

_ Love. Was that the feeling Liam had harbored for Tyler? The feeling that made him want to pin him to the wall in the locker room showers and have his way with him? Liam did not know. But, Tyler _HAD_ kissed him… _

**-.- **

_ The door slammed shut and Liam screamed. Tyler was leaving him, had accused him of having no feeling of love for him. Accused him of having no feelings at all. Accused him of not knowing what love was. Liam didn't understand. He thought what they'd had was love. When they would kiss, when they would have sex, Tyler would tell Liam he loved him. Liam responded that he loved Tyler too. And he did. He loved Tyler every night, and twice on Sundays. He didn't understand what Tyler had meant. _

**-.- **

_When Tyler left him in the visiting room, he left him broken and crying. Tyler never saw this, but this was when Liam began to realize what love truly was. Love wasn't sex, or kisses, or expressions of physical desire. Love was an emotion. Love was doing nice things without reason. Love was putting up with morning breath when you went in for the wake-up kiss. Love was what Liam had dreamed of, with the nights on the beach, and the watching of the sunset. Love was something he would never have, now, because the one he wanted to share those dreams with hated him. _

**-.- **

_When Tyler had slammed the door in his face, Liam realized that his life was over. Tyler would never believe or trust Liam again. The other boy had deceived him, had hurt him, and in his attempts to make things right, had only made them worse. Tyler truly hated him around. Liam would never hear the words "I love you" in Tyler's rich baritone whispered into his ear just before sleep again. He didn't want to live his dreams only in further dreams. His life was over. _

Ryan shut the last notebook at this point. He had already read Liam's death scene. He had been going over the prose for three solid sixteen hour days, and had bought four new legal pads to take notes on, both of grammar errors and possible reasons why Kyle would be apprehensive about his ex-lover's boyfriend reading it. With a few exceptions, the grammar errors were dismissed by the English major because of the nature of the writing. The possible reasons behind Kyle's apprehension, on the other hand, took up two complete legal pads. After the complete read, though, one thought stood out in the blonde's mind.

Stan had been right. Kyle did want him back. There was no question, from what Stan had told him of how he had first admitted his feelings to Kyle, that Tyler was his boyfriend and Liam was Kyle himself. Liam had not been committed to a mental facility for five years, instead he had been incarcerated for battery. There was no mention of the rape of the other boy Stan had mentioned. The situations had minor variations, but it was definitely Kyle's version of his broken relationship with Stan.

Standing up and stretching, Ryan went looking for Stan. He found him watching _Law & Order: Special Victims Unit_, which was his favorite show. Ryan didn't understand why, but Stan said it was because he could identify with the victims. Ryan could as well, but he still didn't want to watch people simulate what he had gone through personally.

"You were right," he said, distracting Stan from a commercial. "Kyle does want you back."

"I'm not going to say I told you so," Stan said. "Even though I did. What are we going to do now? Do you really want the competition?"

"What competition?" Ryan asked, moving to sit next to his boyfriend on the couch. "You don't love him, it's not a love triangle."

"I guess. I mean, aren't you uncomfortable, with his history, of being between him and me?"

"Kyle wouldn't hurt me," Ryan stated confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because hurting me would only make you hate him more."

"Then…what do you think he's going to do? Just wallow in self-pity for the rest of his life?" Ryan let out a sigh, letting Stan lay across his lap.

"I don't know."

Kyle, however, did. And after listening to the exchange from the top of the stairs, he retreated to his room and searched fervently for a decent-sized scrap of paper and a pen.

When Ryan came up later to check on Kyle, he found Kyle missing, the window open, the sheets gone, and a sheet of paper that had been taped to the dresser fluttering in the breeze. Walking over to it, he removed it from the furniture and started to read.

"Stan? Stan, we've got a problem!"

**-.- **

**Notes: Do you get it yet? **

**Phoenix**** II **


	28. Syncategorematic

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Syncategorematic **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Kyle's gone. Where? **

**-.- **

_Syncategorematic__ • adjective _

_ forming a meaningful expression only in conjunction with a denotative expression (as a content word) _

**-.- **

"Ryan? What's the matter?" Stan asked, running full sprint into the room, stopping abruptly when he saw what Ryan had seen: window open, Kyle gone, sheets gone, note. Ryan wordlessly handed him the note and slipped out of the room as Stan read.

_Stan (and Ryan) – _

_ I'm writing you this because I'm tired. Stan, I've finally realized that I love you. It's what you wanted from me all along, what I felt for you too, but I couldn't put it into words. Now that I can, and have, you don't believe me and it hurts. _

_ It hurts just as much to have to tell you this in writing, because I don't want to see the look on your face if I told you this in person. You're happy with Ryan, I don't want to ruin the life you've made with someone who deserves you. _

_ I cried myself to sleep last night. I can hear it when you and Ryan make love, and I know that's what you're doing. You love him, and he loves you. And it hurts so very much. Sometimes at night I get out of bed and just watch the two of you sleep. You both look so at peace and happy… _

_ I'm leaving, guys. I don't want to be a problem, and – at least for Stan – that's all I've been for the past five years. I don't want Ryan to have to worry about me trying to steal his man. All I've wanted to do when I was watching you sleep was walk over there and caress your lightly stubbled jaw and give you a gentle kiss, but I never did, because I'm not like that. _

_ I'm leaving now, but I'll still be alive until sunrise. I don't want to die in the dark. _

_ Love, even though you don't feel the same, _

_ Kyle _

Stan spun around and found Ryan there, offering him a sweatshirt and a flashlight.

"How'd you know?" Stan asked.

"He's still your friend," Ryan said. "You'd do anything to help your friends, even that scruffy horndog or the lardass that you worry about running into any time we go to your parents' house for Christmas."

"You're coming too?" Stan asked, pulling on the sweatshirt and just noticing his boyfriend was dressed to spend the night looking too. "You need to sleep…you've already been up sixteen hours."

"You'll never find him on your own," Ryan said. "Besides, you've only lived here two years. I was _raised_ here Stan. I spent eighteen summers here. I know this place. And I've got coffee brewing."

"You think of everything," Stan said, pulling on a pair of hiking boots and waiting for the coffee to brew.

**-.- **

Kyle sat in the hunting stand against the bark of what seemed like the only non-pine tree on the property. He'd been able to see Stan and Ryan walk out their front door at eleven at night, flashlights on and calling his name. He should have known they would. Thankfully, he was on the western bank of the small lake, so he could see the sun rise in the east. It would take them a while to walk around it while looking through every tree on the way for him.

His watched beeped the approach of six A.M., and even though the skies had been getting progressively lighter since three, and Kyle knew that he wouldn't be alive to see seven. The forecast had said the sun would rise at approximately six-twenty-three this morning. Kyle estimated his time of death to be six-twenty-five.

He had no regrets about what he was about to do. He'd wondered briefly about where he would be buried, since his parents refused to acknowledge his existence. He had no one left in the world who cared about him…he figured Stan and Ryan would probably toss him in the lake and forget about him.

The alarm beeped at six-twenty-three, and Kyle looked up to see his last sunrise. It was beautiful…made only moreso by the scenery he viewed it from. Resolute, Kyle secured his sheet-rope noose around his neck and made his way to the railing of the hunting stand. He'd already secured the other end of the rope to a sturdy branch. Keeping his gaze on the sky, Kyle jumped.

He felt a rush of air, followed all-too-quickly by a quick and painful jerk. He thought he felt something tear free, and he was suddenly lighter, and all around him was black, except for a bright light in the distance.

"Kyle," a voice said from next to him. He spun around to see Stan, holding his hand out. It was then that Kyle realized he was dead, but he didn't understand at first why Stan was there to escort him into the light.

"Yes, you're dead," the Stan-image said. He looked…like Stan had when they'd first gotten together. Like Stan had five years previously. There was no stubble on his jaw, no lines on his face, and no gray in his hair. And then Kyle understood. Stan was alive, yes, but it wasn't the same Stan. Kyle had killed _this_ Stan through his behavior, through his abuse and his torment.

"I've been waiting for you," the other said with a smile. Kyle smiled back, took Stan's hand, and walked into the light.

**-.- **

**Notes: Still two days to go! **

**Phoenix**** II **


	29. Infrangible

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Infrangible **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: Kyle est morte. **

**-.- **

_Infrangible__ • adjective _

_1:__ not capable of being broken or separated into parts _

_2:__ not to be infringed or violated_

**-.- **

It was, of course, Stan who found him. Ryan wasn't far behind, but Stan was the first to see Kyle's body hanging limply from the tree. Ryan reached for his cell phone, to call the ambulance, but Stan told him not to, there was no point.

He pointed out Kyle's eyes, how they had a glazed over and glossy look to them, the way his head hung forward, and the lack of color in his face. Kyle was dead, there was no need to call an ambulance yet. Then he stepped forward and untied the knot around Kyle's neck, catching his body and cradling it, crouching on the forest ground.

Ryan stood back, giving Stan a private moment with his friend while calling the county coroner and letting him know what had happened. He watched Stan cry silently, close Kyle's eyes and kiss his forehead before looking up, but not looking back.

"You can call now," he said.

"I already did. The coroner'll be out here in a half hour or so. We're going to have to file a statement about how we found him, and give them the note, but … what's the matter?" Ryan asked, walking forward and crouching down beside Stan, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"What about his funeral?" Stan asked.

"What about it? Are you going to call his parents?"

"He's not their son anymore," Stan said. "They disowned him and they refuse to acknowledge his existence. I was really all he had left in the world, and I failed him."

"I guess we could bury him here…" Ryan said. "I'll tell Doc to get the death certificate issued fast, because he has to be in the ground within what, three days, according to Jewish law?"

"As soon as possible, but three days works. I'm going to make his parents come. Ike can get them to come…" Stan said, standing up, still holding Kyle. "How're we gonna get back over there?"

"The raft," Ryan replied, standing as well and heading over to a dock platform. "Dad built these so they could be floated across if need be," he said, untying it and grabbing a fallen branch to use as a pole. "Set Kyle down here."

"No," Stan replied, stepping onto the raft. "The body's infrangible. I'm going to keep a hold of him just so he doesn't roll off."

"Alright then," Ryan said, stepping on as well and pushing off. By the time they reached the other shore, the coroner was just pulling up the drive.

"Ryan," the man said. "It's been a while."

"But surely that's a good thing," Ryan replied with a twinkle in his eye as Stan stepped off the raft, still holding Kyle.

"That's the poor soul then?" the older man asked. Stan nodded. "Well, bring him here, bring him here." Stan did.

"Hung himself alright," the man concluded. "And a fine job of it too, for just sheets. Clean snap of the vertebrae. I can have the write up done in fifteen minutes, and take him to the funeral home of your choice, Ryan."

"Please," the blonde said. He was eager to move on from this nightmare. And get some sleep. He'd been up a solid twenty four hours now, and no amount of coffee could change the fact that he was tired.

**-.- **

**Notes: Cutting it off here. Tomorrow's will probably be a bit longer, but it will hopefully tie everything up with a nice bow. And also give the title relevance. **

**Phoenix**** II **


	30. Restive

**Sapphires and Morning Glory **

**Restive **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**Summary: The final chapter. **

**-.- **

_Restive__ • adjective _

_1:__ stubbornly resisting control balky _

_2:__ marked by impatience or uneasiness fidgety _

**-.- **

Five years after Kyle's death, Stan Marsh performed the ritual he did every year, laying the bouquet on Kyle's headstone, and then rowing back across the lake to sit under a tree with Ryan and watch their adopted son play with the dog.

"Kyle, go inside and wash up, it's almost dinner time!" Ryan called as Stan lay down, resting his head in his lover's lap.

"Okay, daddy!" the little boy replied, dropping the stick and running for the house, followed closely by his golden retriever.

"I wish he hadn't done it," Stan said absently, as Ryan stroked his hair. "I wish he'd been able to see his work published. He deserved that." Shortly after Kyle had been buried, Stan had abruptly quit his job working with an IT firm and spent three months typing all 1,049 handwritten pages into the computer. It had come out to an equal number of typed pages.

With no success, Stan had sent copies around to all the major publishing companies. It wasn't until Ryan secured an editing job with his father's company that he'd been able to help Stan out. The major problem was length. Nobody wanted to read that long of a romance novel. So they'd divided it into three, given each part a separate title, and published them within two months of each other. They hadn't expected the reaction it had received. But then, when Oprah names something her Book of the Month, it's going to get a lot of readers.

Two months after the release of the last part, Stan and Ryan released the entire book in an anthology. Without the little breaks – which, thankfully, Kyle had made more or less on his own – that had been made between books.

Stan was now employed as a "Special Assistant to the Editor" in Ryan's Dad's company. He'd tried working his own book, but despite Stan going numerous times on numerous programs to explain, many people thought that HE was Kyle, and his writing skills were definitely not up to that level.

Ryan was being primed to take over the company when his Dad retired in a few years. He did all of his work from the home he shared with Stan and five year old Kyle, and their dog. He planned to run the company from there as well. One of the rooms had been converted into a teleconference center so that Ryan could be in touch with anyone at the corporate office at any time.

It was when Ryan had gotten his editorial position that they'd purchased Kyle a new headstone. It had cost them $150 thousand, but it had been worth it. It was white marble, with white ceramic tile around the top. In the center of the tile, there was a Star of David, made out of the most perfect sapphires the manufacturer could find.

It was on this grave, every year on the 28th of September, that Stan laid a bouquet of morning glory blossoms upon, because the glory of the morning was the last thing that Kyle had ever seen.

Life went on, people aged, people died, trees blossomed, trees died, flowers bloomed, flowers died, season changed, but that tombstone beneath the place he'd actually died remained the same.

**-.- **

**Notes: DONE! Finally, finally, finally! And yet, it doesn't feel at all like it's been thirty days and thirty chapters. Oh well. **

**Now that this is done, I can put a little more time into developing a couple of other plotrabbits I have running around in my head, even moreso when I finish AMVMC in a few weeks. **

**See you around, **

**Phoenix**** II **


End file.
